


Trust

by spicedrobot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Bruises, Choking, Dirty Talk, Harness, Healing Sex, Human Zenyatta, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta/ Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Oral Sex, Top Tekhartha Zenyatta, Trans Male Character, Trans Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, minor genji mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-20 06:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicedrobot/pseuds/spicedrobot
Summary: "So handsome," Zenyatta says, and Gabriel's jaw tightens, scarred cheeks flushing, drawing Zenyatta's eye: the reaction of a much younger, shyer man. "You must know how you look. Like a gift ready to be undone."
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Tekhartha Zenyatta
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired again by Sev! 
> 
> **Note:** Gabriel is trans in this, no piv. The word cock is used in reference to him.

Progress had been slow and difficult, but it was his student’s wish to see this through. For Zenyatta, that alone was enough to try. 

Genji had taken the initiative: the man had known his student once upon a time. They had been different then: Genji, wild-eyed and lost, his commander a stronger, kinder man, still mostly human, though the serum had worn him vein-threaded and sickly. Even talon’s experiments hadn't been able to temper that inevitable decline, only warped him into something lesser, liminial. A ghost, a specter, of the man he used to be. Their world had crumbled beneath them, and their roles had forever changed.

Even knowing the story, Gabriel seemed myth given form. Hazy, barely clinging to human shape, eyes like flamed coals, smoke pooling from the gape that at one point must’ve been his mouth.

Master and student work together, often without direction, augmenting each other’s strengths in wordless sync. Genji soothes him when Zenyatta cannot, and together they syphon the poison within Gabriel’s soul. The glow of the iris, Genji’s shared memories, calms his ire and pain, and, moment by moment, piece by piece, the man Genji remembers takes form. Never the same, some wounds are too deep to heal, but something akin. And sometimes, whatever one could reclaim is enough.

There are experiences Genji cannot provide. Too close to his own hurt, feelings still raw and apt to bleed. Sometimes one needed the help of an outsider. Zenyatta had not known Gabriel then, but he loved him, as Genji had loved him, from the moment he had stumbled into the watchpoint medbay, kept standing only by his student's stalwart grip.

Now, Gabriel maintains his human shape perfectly. He had been a large man, even in life, and now, in this strange undeath, he is larger than them both. Still, that does not deter Zenyatta. He bears his weight when Gabriel falls into him, tears upon his shoulder, hands clinging as if Zenyatta is the only thing left in the world. He holds him close during those times, a hand upon his shaved nape, rubbing soft, comforting circles along his back, harmony softening the stabbing ache of the past, of the present, of what sorrows overwhelmed in that moment. 

Gabriel had to learn again how it was to feel, to look within himself, temper the anger and sorrow that threatened to overrun him. Recognize the signs that he might lose control. Acknowledging failure, learning from it, continuing beyond it: it is this lesson that Gabriel learns day by day. Restraint. Reliance on others that had been lost to him beneath the smothering control of his former syndicate. 

Trust.

Zenyatta has much practice in this, training others as he had been trained, student and stranger both. Gabriel shows promise, soft-hearted, even though he would rather hide such a trait: the sign of one who has been hurt each and every time he has exposed himself. Another obstacle Gabriel must overcome, but he does not walk this path alone.

Teachings are a curious thing when it comes to men like Gabriel. He had been human once, and human urges remain. He cannot fault Gabriel for this any more than he can fault himself for drifting from the monastic brotherhood: all life contains sparks of humanity, and to refuse it is to refuse oneself.

He is a man, one that has gone without for far too long. Zenyatta does not shirk away from tasks that might turn away others. Shame and embarrassment are unnecessary, especially when he cares for Gabriel. It is Gabriel who needs convincing, the conviction in Zenyatta's quiet tone over and over that he is welcome, that he is desired, that satisfying need is worthwhile, normal.

It has taken more than a year reach this point, to be truly open with one another. Gabriel shares with him, and Zenyatta offers what he needs, what the man refuses to admit unless it is whispered against Zenyatta's ear.

"I am very glad you asked me, Gabriel," Zenyatta murmurs, stroking along Gabriel's sweat-slick, muscled flanks.

He is so beautiful, especially like this, open and unadorned but like a treasure upon the sheets. The harness’ straps are large and sturdy, sectioning Gabriel's trembling, straining form. He had been so patient as Zenyatta had secured each clasp, moving without protest when Zenyatta guided each limb into place.

He stands to survey his work, and Gabriel watches him with wary eyes.

"So handsome," Zenyatta says, and Gabriel's jaw tightens, scarred cheeks flushing, drawing Zenyatta's eye: the reaction of a much younger, shyer man. "You must know how you look. Like a gift ready to be undone."

Gabriel's chest heaves even though Zenyatta has yet to touch him, hairy and hefty and alluring. Marks from another life, a peppering of shotgun scars along his hip, a crescent moon trail where a knife missed vital organs by a few, miraculous centimeters. Zenyatta kisses down the straps that snake between his chest, pinching one pudgy nipple, teasing the tip free of the other with his mouth, all while Gabriel gnashes his teeth, still too bashful to make a sound. 

Patience is his strength, and he takes his time with Gabriel, loving each part of him, tearing down his barriers piece by piece. He laves through the thick hair beneath his clenched belly, and Gabriel half laughs, shying away. Ticklish, and Zenyatta relishes in it, these small gives that make Gabriel so alive, so human, even when he assumes the worst of himself. He kisses down one hip bone, lips to tongue to teeth, sucking round, needy bruises into his skin. Marking had not been something that he had done before, but Gabriel enjoys it, being controlled, free of burden or thought in these sessions. And he cannot lie to himself: the marks are beautiful, mottled along his massive, flushed thighs. Reaper and the man before him now are different entities, past and present, life returned from death. Gabriel's heart still beats, blood throbbing through the veins of his inner thigh, against Zenyatta's lips. He leaves the most marks there, closer and closer to the spot where Gabriel aches for his touch.

He could give him what he wants, it would be easy. Gabriel required so little. Soft words and a few flicks of his tongue. But to be relished, cherished, taken apart slowly and savored, these too, are needs. Instead of tracing that throbbing cock with his tongue, sucking until Gabriel swore and begged, he moves lower. His fingers trace between his cheeks as his breath ghosts over Gabriel's opening, molten and dripping an inch from his lips.

"You prepared yourself," Zenyatta says, laced with mirth and heat. 

Gabriel only grumbles, but his sounds become much more agreeable when Zenyatta dips his fingers inside him. His ass is impossibly warm and slick, worked over so carefully by Gabriel's own hands. 

"Would you let me watch next time? I long to see it."

"You just like listening to yourself talk."

"I would much rather hear the sounds you make as you finger yourself open for me."

Gabriel flushes brightly, and Zenyatta kisses his thigh, sliding a second finger aside the first. It squelches quietly, and Gabriel buries his face in his forearm, groaning as his cock switches and fattens, trying so hard to stand at attention. It makes Zenyatta's mouth water, makes him forget, momentarily, what he means to do. Gabriel is in some ways dangerous even still. A man of passion, of a fire that could ignite even one versed in restraint, mastered in it.

"What do you wish for, Gabriel?" Zenyatta whispers, sucking another mark into his skin, tracing his opening as he works a third finger into Gabriel's ass in smooth, slow pumps. "My hands? My mouth?" His teeth sink into Gabriel's thigh, and Gabriel shouts, thrashes against Zenyatta's fingers, angling for more. "My cock?"

It is a prized moment, watching the deluge of expressions on Gabriel's face. Pride, shame, want, agony and pleasure. Zenyatta will not push him to express himself, will not force admission when it is not freely given. He slips a finger just beneath Gabriel's cock, and the sound he makes behind his teeth shivers up Zenyatta's spine.

"Stop with your games. Just fuck me." So deep, brutal like a punch. Zenyatta smiles.

"What if I only wish to play games?"

Gabriel could easily overpower him. Zenyatta is strong, but Gabriel is decades trained and decades older. A close quarters fight would have an undeniable victor. That knowledge makes it all the more pleasurable when Zenyatta hefts up one of Gabriel's thighs and draws him onto his side, drags his cock along his ass, hissing at the shock that rips through him. He had ignored himself so thoroughly, not even by design, but again and again distracted by the man squirming and needy in his grasp.

It is hard to tease when he takes hold his own cock, kisses it against Gabriel’s and pushes inside, sliding home like it belonged there. Gabriel had been thorough in his own ministrations, and Zenyatta gasps into the man's shoulder.

"Not so cocky, huh..." But Gabriel’s words shake, another front Zenyatta tears down as he begins to pump his hips.

The pace is languid, slow thrusts with a simmering, gut-deep build of pleasure. The quiet smack of him buried completely rings out, soon joined by Gabe’s quiet huffs.

“You needn’t hold back,” Zenyatta murmurs. “I love to hear you.”

Gabriel shakes his head. “Maybe if you did something worth moaning about…”

Zenyatta blinks, then he laughs, a bright, cheerful sound. 

“Ah, certainly.” 

A thin, graceful hand slides around Gabriel’s throat, holds fast as he starts to fuck him. The sounds Gabriel makes then, splendid: tender, choked gasps, deadened by his grip. He alternates the pressure, never hard enough to hurt him, though he is a hard man to injure, at least physically. Gabriel’s form wavers at the edges, like an afterimage, but his body is thrumming, hot like a furnace against his chest, clenching him tightly as his pace quickens.

“Do you think you could do it?” Zenyatta asks quietly. “Come just from this?” He tightens his hold, bruises against his fingertips. “You will wear these marks, you know.” Gabriel’s whine goes impossibly deep. “Everyone will know to whom you belong.” 

He snaps his hips forward, humming at Gabriel’s gurgling swear, the man’s thigh shaking in his grip, flexing and twitching.

“Fuck,” Gabriel barks hoarsely. “Ah, fuck, Zen, fuck, fuckfuck—please!”

“Yes, just like that, hm?” 

Zenyatta rolls his lower lip between his teeth, softening his own quiet grunts as he pumps into Gabriel deeper, thrusts relentless as Gabriel’s voice breaks, a shout, then tight, clenching pressure, a long, beleaguered moan. A moment from coming himself, he attempts to withdraw, but a hot, heavy hand grasps his ass, traps him deep inside.

“Don’t even think about it,” the man’s voice, smoky, broken, and Zenyatta presses his forehead into Gabriel’s sweaty back and fills him, his quiet gasps hidden by Gabriel’s pleased little growls.

Gabriel leans his head back, eyes closed. He licks his lips, teases fingers around his cock with Zenyatta still inside him, still shifting, shivery.

“Do you crave more?”

Gabriel dips his head, and Zenyatta is already moving, urging Gabriel’s thigh to the side and settling between them. His cock is thick and swollen, a mess that he intends to taste beneath Gabriel’s dark, watchful eyes.

He expects more pomp, a sneer perhaps, old, transparent shells that Zenyatta easily discards. Instead, with his lips poised into a weak, uncertain smile, Gabriel says

“Please.”

Zenyatta descends. Gabriel’s hand settles on his own shaved head, urging him quicker, thrusting his hips sluggishly. The play is worn thin now, need replacing words; a few quick lashes of his tongue and a sealed mouth has Gabriel thrashing, thighs clenching against the sides of his head.

This is what Zenyatta is truly after. A lack of pretense, Gabriel ready to relish in his wants without worrying what anyone else would think. Freedom and peace found at last with people who care for him. 

  
  



End file.
